“What are you alluding to?”
“I have a hunch,” Marissa said. “But if proven—it could get ugly.”
Yeager cursed under his breath. “Matthews hasn’t been very happy with the agency for a long time. I was surprised he hadn’t retired sooner. But I don’t think he’d sell us out, Cole.”
“I don’t either, Director,” Marissa said. “But the NOC on the agents on Operation Smokescreen had been leaked. Matthews’s suicide reeks of conspiracy to silence the source.”
“Why?”
Marissa scowled.
Yeager took a deep breath and said, “Viktor Baran. It’s not far-fetched, but the last thing this agency needs is a scandal when our agents are being targeted. This may still be a simple suicide. Do this under the radar. You got me?”
“Understood.” Marissa turned to Allison. “The Smokescreen files reside on Argus and have been monitored these past three weeks for access. But we haven’t considered what was stored in the Cellar. I want you to track every item Matthews had checked out from there. Any questions?”
Allison shook her head.
Argus was one of the giant super-computers at the agency that contained highly classified and encrypted information. The Cellar, as the name implied, was a warehouse several floors below CIA HQS where any physical item related to an op or case—files, evidence, reports, disks —was stored.
“I hope you’re wrong about this, Cole,” Yeager said.
“Same here.” However, if she was wrong, they wouldn’t be any closer to finding who was intent on killing Guardians and CIA agents. And something told her the clock was ticking on the next target.
*****
Parking! Marissa thought and swerved immediately to snag the coveted space. It was a few blocks from her house, but parking near Dupont Circle had always been a nightmare. Still, she loved her Victorian row house on T Street, although, she hadn’t had much opportunity to enjoy it lately. Marissa sent Allison home after laying out the strategy to handle the influx of information from their assets in Damascus and the CIA station in Lebanon. There was no movement on the money trail on the hit in Paris, and her analyst had been working non-stop for a month and deserved some semblance of a weekend. So she gave Allison firm orders to take a Saturday night and the whole of Sunday off because it looked like another hellish month ahead. When hitting a dead end, it was always helpful to take a step back and have a break before diving back in. A good rest might just turn the tide toward gaining a new perspective.
Before exiting the BMW, she clocked any possible threats. Situational awareness was deeply ingrained in her training; the man standing across the street idly fiddling with his phone, the person in the parked vehicle a few cars behind her, or the woman crossing the street in front of her. She double-checked the 9mm in her purse, making sure the safety was off. In an emergency, an engaged safety on a gun could make the difference between life and death.
Her heels clicked noisily on the sidewalk, and she winced at the damage that the intricately paved walkway would inflict on her pumps. Shoes and clothes were her guilty pleasure. Besides, she wanted to keep up her cover as a successful architect. Marissa’s face lit up when she spotted her neighbor, Brian, grinning at her. His dog, Bruiser, a Bullmastiff mix, was sitting beside him, drooling all over the ancient mildew-stained concrete steps that led up to the house.
“Hey, stranger,” Brian drawled in that sexy Southern accent that used to make her melt. He had moved in next door three years ago after his divorce. As an aide to a congressman, he was well versed in Beltway politics and had a personality of charm and tenacity. Add in the mesmerizing pull of those baby-blue eyes, a lean, muscular body, and a busy schedule, he’d been perfect as her once-upon-a-time fuck buddy. Heck, she hadn’t had sex in six months—although, Brian had always made it known that he was available. “Haven’t seen you around.”
Marissa grimaced. “Tough project. Boss is a slave driver.”
“So quit. You don’t need the money,” Brian said. “Have some fun.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Marissa laughed. This was why she liked Brian. He wasn’t complicated—he wasn’t after commitment. There was no awkwardness between them. They knew what they wanted out of their friendship. He wasn’t demanding or autocratic like one other man she knew.
“Hey, boy.” She bent slightly to pet Bruiser. Big mistake. The gigantic dog rose up on his hind legs and nearly knocked her off her feet. She avoided that disaster, but her suit ended up with a gooey streak of disgusting dog drool.
“Bruiser!” Brian exclaimed. “Aw, fuck! I’m so sorry!”
Marissa laughed harder. “No, it’s all right. I’ll just send it for dry cleaning.”
“Send me the bill.” Brian’s face was flushed with embarrassment.
“Seriously, Bri, it’s fine.” Marissa went up a few steps so that she was eye level with him. Leaning in, she planted a friendly peck near his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How about I bring some pizza over for dinner?” Brian suggested. “You staying in?”
“Really, Brian. You don’t have to,” Marissa said. “Kinda tired and thinking of just spending some time alone. No offense.”
“None taken. But I insist,” Brian pressed. “You don’t have to do anything. I don’t care if you fall asleep on me.”
Marissa shook her head, grinning. “Flirt. You’re still the master of double-meanings. But really, I’m not up for company.”
Brian looked disappointed, but being around her right now was not safe. In fact, she shouldn’t have conversed with him too long outside. But sometimes, the life of a spook was so lonely. She just craved some semblance of normalcy, such as hot sex with a hot neighbor. Except right now, her libido was channelled toward someone else.
“I really need to turn in and just laze around for the rest of the day,” Marissa stated with finality. It was 4:00 p.m., and there was nothing she wanted more than to sleep until the next morning. She grinned at Brian, and ascended the remaining steps and entered her house.
Marissa dropped her bag on the dining table and headed for the kitchen to check the contents of her fridge. Shaking her head at the sparse supply, she tried to remember the last time she went to the grocery. Looked like she was having instant ramen for dinner. Her gaze dropped to her landline and sighed. Time to return some personal calls.
“I’m telling you, Trent, it’s not going to make any difference,” Marissa told her brother. “It’s only going to be his way or the highway. Dad will never change.”
“Have you talked to him lately?” Her brother’s baritone voice challenged her over the phone.
Marissa huffed in annoyance. Her father was disappointed in both his children for choosing a life outside their family business. Trenton Cole III was old money from Maryland and was the principal owner of Cole Nauticals, a shipping conglomerate. Her brother, Trent, chose to join the United States Army and was right now in Special Forces. He was coming home from God knows what after his eighth tour in Afghanistan, and was staying in Northern Virginia for a couple of months.
“It’ll be good business with both of us in this, sis,” Trent added when she did not respond. “I’d like to quit the Army and go into private security. A group of us just needs the capital. Dad might listen to you. Just back me up, please?”
“What is it with you ex-Army guys and private military companies anyway?” Marissa grumbled.
“We love what we do, Reesee. Just need to get paid more money for our skills.”
Loads of money, judging from what Marissa could see from what it cost to run AGS operations. Viktor had close to forty full-time agents and they were always deployed somewhere, not to mention any number of contractors who chose to work with them. Paid top-dollar, but non-official covers (NOC), therefore, Uncle Sam or any other client could disavow them if shit hit the fan. It was part of the contract.
“Are you going NOC or official?” Marissa asked.
“Not sure yet. What do you suggest,
Ms. CIA?” her brother drawled.
“Damn it, Trent, this line is not secure.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“You just failed Security 101, baby brother.”
Just then, there was a sound of scuffing near the front door. Her alertness shifted into high gear.
“Hey, I need to go. Call me when you’re back stateside.”
When Marissa ended the call, she immediately reached for her gun. Gripping the weapon with both hands, muzzle pointing down, she slowly approached the door. A few steps before she reached the foyer, the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?”
“Your friendly neighbor.”
Brian.
Exhaling deeply, Marissa hid her gun in the credenza near the entrance. Out of habit, she peeked through the peephole, spying Brian’s distorted face.
“Brian,” Marissa said in exasperation as she opened the door. He walked in with a box of pizza and a six-pack of beer.
“I told you—”
“You have to eat anyway,” Brian cut in. “Look, I’ll leave in an hour.” He shrugged. “Or two.”
Marissa glowered at him. He grinned, laid the pizza and beer on the table, and raised both hands to appease her. “I just miss my friend and want to catch up.”
“Brian—”
“I’m not here for a booty-call.”
“Hey, I’ve never accused you of that,” Marissa retorted. “Well then, let’s eat. The pizza is getting cold.”
“You’re so strung-up,” Brian observed.
“I told you I wasn’t good company,” she replied, a bit apologetically. “Too much stuff going on at work.”
Brian regarded her thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything else; instead, he flicked the tab on a beer and handed it to her.
She took a hearty gulp and realized the cold beverage was exactly what she needed. “Ahhh, that tastes so good.”
“So, I got half-pepperoni and half the works,” Brian said as he flipped the pizza box open. They ate their pizza in silence. Pepperoni pizza was all Marissa ever ate and was gratified that her neighbor remembered because it saved her from picking at her pizza until there was nothing left except cheese and crust.
“I know architects can work ridiculously long hours,” Brian said over a bite of pizza, “but don’t you think you’re running yourself to the ground? I’m just speaking as a friend here, so if I cross the line—smack me.”
Her lips tipped up. See—easygoing which made him not relationship material because he couldn’t bring himself to care deeply enough. He’d test the waters and then pull back. No risk. She was accustomed to reading people, which was probably why she knew she could be comfortable with Brian.
“Pay’s good,” Marissa mumbled. “Now shut up and tell me what’s the newest scandal on the Hill?”
She probably knew more than he did, so she tried not to glaze over as he told her about the infighting in Congress regarding the spending bill. After two hours of conversation, Brian noticed her head nodding and mentioned that he should probably leave. She didn’t stop him because after beer and pizza, she was definitely ready to turn in.
A sharp rap on the door made them freeze. The rap was followed by more urgent pounding.
“What the hell?” Brian muttered furiously, getting up to see who it was.
Marissa leaped into action, all sleepiness vanishing. She thrust an arm out to stop him and whispered urgently, “No, Brian.”
Damn it. She was going to blow her cover, but she had no choice because if that was an assassin out there, Brian was in mortal danger.
Her neighbor stared at her incredulously. “This is DC, Marissa. Great city, but plenty of psychos. Let me handle this.”
“Brian,” Marissa said impatiently when there was another banging on the door. “Stay in the kitchen, and if anything happens, don’t look back—just run out the back door and hide.”
“What the fuck, Marissa?”
Not bothering to explain further, Marissa quickly slithered along the wall, praying whoever was outside wouldn’t just spray her door with assault rifle rounds. But her instincts told her that this wasn’t an assassin. She had a pretty good idea who it was, but she still wasn’t taking any chances when Brian was with her.
She pulled out her gun from the credenza, ignoring the curse from her neighbor, and leaned in to look through the peephole.
Her blood pressure shot straight to her head.
CHAPTER FOUR
Viktor’s slightly irritated face greeted Marissa when she opened the door. But a flash of fury quickly passed through his eyes when he spotted Brian behind her. Not waiting to be invited in, he stepped into her space, forcing her to move out of the way.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Viktor leveled Brian with an intimidating stare. Brian visibly stepped back and then caught himself. She couldn’t blame him. Viktor filled up a room with his presence and it wasn’t the type of presence where you’d leave your guard down.
Annoyed, Marissa said, “It’s the weekend, Mr. Baran. Can’t this project wait until Monday?”
Ignoring her, Viktor turned to Brian. “You should leave.”
Marissa’s jaw slackened in outrage, and her neighbor was speechless in the face of Viktor’s rudeness. How dare he start ordering her guests from her house? Brian actually sputtered and shot her an aggrieved look.
“Marissa? You work for this asshole?” Brian asked when he managed to speak.
“With.” She corrected. Facing Viktor, she said through gritted teeth, “You’re the one leaving. You have no right demanding my time after working hours.”
Viktor’s brow shot up before he balanced back on his heels and crossed his arms.
She wanted to scream in frustration. She couldn’t do this in front of Brian and Viktor knew it.
She looked at her neighbor apologetically. “I have to handle this, Brian. It’s a high-profile project and I,” she glared at Viktor, “have no desire to be blamed for its failure.”
“I don’t want to leave you—” Brian began.
“Bri,” Marissa said sharply. “Go! I’ll be fine. I’m the one with a gun.”
“Well, if you shoot him, I didn’t see or hear anything,” Brian retorted. Walking up to her, he brushed her lips with his, surprising her. Her eyes snapped to Viktor’s and she flinched because the promise of retribution in them sent her heart racing.
When the door closed behind Brian, Viktor crossed the distance between them. A hand shot out to firmly, but gently grasp her nape, bringing her nose to nose with him.
“I thought I made myself clear.” Viktor enunciated each word. “We’re happening. And while we’re happening—only I touch you—only I put my mouth on yours—and—only—I—fuck—you. I do not fucking share.”
Marissa tried to escape from his dominant hold, but he tightened his grip, not enough to hurt her, but enough to keep her head where it was. Her lips curled cynically. “You’ve come to that conclusion yourself. Well, guess what? I’m not twenty-eight years old anymore. I’m not one of your subs. So get your hands off me before I really do shoot you.”
Of course, Viktor grabbed the gun out of her hand and tucked it behind his cargo pants. How does he freaking do this? She was a damned CIA agent for Christ’s sake.
“You were saying?” This time there was a smirk on his face.
“Go to hell, Viktor.”
“Already been there, Marissa. Hell spit me back out,” Viktor said dryly. His eyes took on a feral gleam. “So, sweetheart, have you fucked the neighbor?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It really is. Answer—the—question.”
“He’s my fuck-buddy—” Marissa’s voice faltered when she saw Viktor’s face darken into a ferocious scowl. “Viktor—”
“Wrong answer,” Viktor suddenly released her. “Pack your shit.”
“What?”
“You’re moving in with me right fucking now.”
Marissa recoiled because she h
ad never seen him this furious before.
“Viktor—”
“I swear to God, Marissa,” Viktor’s gravelly voice muttered, visibly struggling for control. “Move your ass right now, or you’ll be leaving with the clothes on your back.” He took a menacing step toward her. “Pack your fucking shit!”
Eight years melted away as Viktor’s forceful words slammed her into retreating. He was as intense and domineering as ever.
Her head bowed. She took a couple of meek steps toward the stairs and stopped. Raising her head, she turned around.
“No.” Her eyes cut to his defiantly.
The muscle tic on his jaw became more pronounced as he regarded her with icy blue eyes. He was about to say something when she said, “I can’t do this with you again.”
“Marissa—”
“NO!” Marissa shouted. Viktor’s brows drew together.
“I’m not one of your agents. You can’t order me around. And if you want things between us to happen, you have to stop bossing me around. This ends now, Viktor!” She was on a roll, so why stop? “I’m not a twenty-eight-year-old rookie anymore. That girl is gone, trampled by the ugliness that my kind of work—our kind of work brings. It tries to drain the humanity out of us, but you hang on to it, Viktor, you just do. You don’t see me turning into you. Yes. You try to be this cold son of a bitch, but you’re hurting inside—”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he replied coldly. But he had flinched at her words—barely—but he did. Encouraged, she ranted on.
“Don’t I?” Marissa challenged. “Don’t I? That briefing. You could’ve at least shown some regret that Jack blamed you for what had happened to Maia. But what did you do? You acted as if you didn’t care, but you really do.”
“Jesus, fuck, shit, Iz. Shut up!” Finally, the damned mask was cracking. “What do you want from me?”
“I want the man buried in all that crap you choose to hide behind.” Marissa sighed heavily. The man she used to love. At least, she believed it was love then. She had seen glimpses of him. Viktor could care deeply. “You don’t want anyone to get close to you. You alienate people, Viktor.”
Smoke and Shadows Page 5
